Puppets
by Scraggles
Summary: "All there is to do is know, it seems, and the scene replays over and over... What is left is nothing but emptiness, and neither of them can shake the feeling that they've lost control." - Farroncest, some fluff, a dash of squick, and a bit of citrus.


Hello all, just another ficlet for you here. It didn't turn out exactly how I'd have liked, but that's how fics that I write in class and finish later usually go. It's pre-game too - hate to go back and read these when I finish them. Anyway, enjoy. Might be errors here and there - no beta here.

Also,** I don't own anything **in this story, just so no one sues me. I can dream though.**

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**"You've seen the marionettes in shops before, haven't you?" her sister whispers gently beside her, so as not to disturb their mother as she scribbles and scratches at the kitchen table, flipping pages and scratching her head every now and then. Serah nods to her, though the word 'marionette' only brings the thought of spiderwebs fresh into her mind. She scrunches her nose and shakes her head before her brain can conjure up any more disturbing images and rests back against Claire's taut stomach, sighing. "No?" The girl's abdomen vibrates with surprise and Serah has to repress the thought of spiders creeping down her spine to keep from leaping out of her lap as they lie on the couch together. She goes stiff, then relaxes again as the hairs on her neck settle. Serah nods, draping her arm over her sister's thigh and watching the limp limb hang over the glazed mahogany floorboards. She closes her eyes for a second, listening to Claire's soft sigh afterward.

Silence. A flipped page as Claire's arms fold over Serah's head, followed by the almost audible scanning as fingers and eyes trace lines upon yellowing pages, mouth curling in curbed utterances of articulation, retaining information at a lightning quick pace. More silence. A fallen stylus across the room, then the scrape of a metal folding chair against kitchen floor, chipping the char black linoleum as a frustrated woman bent to retrieve the object. More scraping, a scratch, a final scootch, scribbling, and more silence, as the tedium of scrawling pen upon paper takes over once more.

"Claire?" Serah murmurs, half between sleep and wakefulness. The air is quiet for a moment. Another flipped page, and Serah wonders if she's even been heard.

Her sister takes a light breath and looks down, wisps of hair dusting across Serah's forehead for an instant. "Hmm?" she answers, lowering her book slightly. She takes another breath as her mother chastises her with a quick, 'shh!' from her desk, and she cringes a bit, realizing she's just spoken quite loudly, considering the volume of their conversation up until this point. The crumpling of paper crashes like waves around the dimly lit room in the time that it takes to have this realization and the single fluorescent, tubular lining filament in the ceiling flickers just so slightly, enough to make the sound seem that much more deafening.

"What are you reading?" Serah whispers quietly, mindful of the woman at the table, who glances over her shoulder with a glare as their father comes in. She doesn't notice the latter, only the irritation in her mother's eyes.

Claire's fingers go lax upon the book for a moment as she casts her gaze over her sister, and then to the cover of the book. "Pinocchio," she says softly, letting the syllables fall as they may. Serah looks up to her curiously, trying not to mind the new presence in the room.

"Pinocchio?" she repeats, testing the word as it rolls around in her mouth. She likes it, very much so. Claire nods. "What's it about?" she asks, as Claire opens the book again nonchalantly. She admits, wide-eyed, "I've never read a book before," as her father passes, patting them both on the head in a manner that is as startling as it is heartwarming.

Claire is about to answer when the man cuts in, chuckling in his gruff, yet soft tone, "You're not missing much, in that case," he says, smiling back to them with bleary eyes and pulling up a chair to the table. "Those old wives' tales are nothing but trouble," he warns, smile lessening and returning again, looking more than a little forced. The man sighs as the two girls look at him, Claire fuming, and Serah confused, pressing his thin lips together finely. Then, with a thick hand through his frosty pink locks, he strides over to the fridge, lingering for a bit.

Claire blows a stray tuft of hair from her brow, rolling her eyes as he turns away. By the time she finishes reading the next page of "Pinocchio," Serah has changed positions in her lap again, lying on her belly, cheek against thigh and arms around waist, as Claire reclines into the back of the couch. Her expression practically screams curiosity, despite her father's efforts. Claire sighs lightly, twiddling the book between her fingertips. "Still want to know?" she asks, arching an eyebrow.

Serah nods profusely. "What's it like? Comedy? Horror? Something else?" She winces as a particularly loud noise hits her ears – arguing in the kitchen again. Her father holds a steaming cup of coffee in one hand, threatening to use it, and a slab of bread in the other, yelling.

Claire sighs, shutting the book once and for all and tossing it into the crack between the cushions for safe keeping, lest it become shrapnel. "I'd like to think of it as a love story," she admits with a dry laugh, blowing another tuft of hair away from her forehead, "It's about a puppet who wants to become a real boy." Serah's little blue eyes widen. She glances down to her, smirking, "I haven't gotten to the end of the book just yet, but the back cover has a picture of a boy and a grasshopper on it." At this, Serah coos, burying the side of her face into Claire's stomach and looking up at her. The smirk grows wider – until the cacophony in the kitchen becomes too much to ignore, and both girls subconsciously frown, looking in the direction of the ruckus. The older of the two sisters' hand finds its way to the spine of the small book, clutching it as Serah's thumb hooks a loop of her skirt.

"Claire, I think we should go to your room," the little girl suggests, casting a worried look back toward their parents. Claire nods and sits up, giving Serah time enough to get off of her as she retrieves the book and stands up to walk back in the direction from which her father had come. Serah follows behind her as they pass through the shadowy eaves of the hallway, spindly webs of dusty spittle spidering their ways across the lacquer of the ceiling. The strings of dust waver as they go by, swaying like tree branches in the wind – artificially. Serah cringes mindfully, following even closer to her sister than before.

Claire sighs, approaching their destination. She clasps the cold, metallic handle of her door, slides it open, and enters silently, waiting until Serah scrambles in before sliding the flimsy lacquered thing back shut. "So?" The older sister inquires, arching an eyebrow, "What should we do?" She smirks lightly, but a thud in the next room quickly levels her expression.

Serah passes by her sister and flops down on their shared bed, as hard and unforgiving the mattress feels to her at first, and as usual, Claire gives her that same intrigued stare as the girl's gaze floats from the ceiling, to her, to the spartan décor, to the desk, and back. She sighs and stretches back into the sheets before drawing up again. "Hmm.. Well, last time you told me bedtime stories until we fell asleep, but I was thinking of something different," she finally answers, rubbing her chin with a pause. Her bright eyes meet Claire's, eyebrows arching high with expectation. "Maybe you can read your book to me," she says hopefully.

Claire chuckles despite herself. "Read it to you?" She finds this ridiculously hard to believe. "I thought you hated books, Serah," she says with a laugh, "Especially ones from Pulse." Claire teases, tossing the book onto the bed as if it were some sort of bug. She knows full well that Serah is afraid of those.

Her sister jumps a bit in surprise as the cover slaps against her leg and Claire settles down next to her, laughing about it, and soon, Serah begins to laugh as well. And so it goes on a few minutes like this, simply sister and sister swimming in a sea of giggles. Then suddenly, it grows quieter and quieter, until the room is silent.

"Claire?" Serah wonders aloud with an unspoken uncertainty in her voice. She turns her head to face her sister, who murmurs a response and in turn, turns also. She sighs and gathers her breath in her chest before she continues. "You really don't think _Pinocchio_ came from _Pulse, _do you?" She asks hesitantly, carefully tiptoeing over the word, as if the Guardian Corps would abduct them at the mere mention of the world down below. Claire knows better.

She sighs sympathetically. "No, silly, I was just kidding," she says, taking the book by the spine and setting it on the white, marble table before reclining back into the pillows again. "That's just what Dad used to tease me with. Of course it's not from Pulse," she assures, ruffling Serah's hair.

"A-are you sure?" Serah asks, still looking at the book with wide, fearful eyes. Claire nods. "Promise?" she says, and holds out a pinky to Claire for good measure.

Claire looks at her sister's outstretched pinky and smiles knowingly as her nimble fingers twist and interlock with Serah's soundly, forgoing the first gesture with a squeeze. "Promise."

* * *

"Claire!" Serah cries in exasperation, lips bowing out in the center as she protests. "I thought you said it was a love story!" She slams her fists on the bed and turns to her sister, who is utterly bewildered, as she cries in front of her.

Claire does not know how to respond and sits gaping, the book clasped limply in her hands and splayed open like a butterfly collection, heavy with the scent of cyanide and smattered with the dust of thousands upon thousands of beautiful wings, all crushed with the flip of a page.

Her sister sobs, falling onto her side and yelling, "Why does it have to be so sad?" She repeats various labored versions of this into the sheets, screaming and slapping the mattress with all her might.

The older girl is dumbfounded, wondering whether Serah is crying because of the book or the way she's read it. She lays a steady hand on her sister's back, trying to think of something – anything to cheer her up. Though, the only thing she manages to scrounge from her thought process is the steady string of increasingly imaginative curses being thrown around in the next room, which is certainly not helpful in the least, she decides. A sigh.

"Er, do you want me to get some water?" she asks at last, wishing she weren't so socially inept. The question alone is enough to make her want to slap herself in the face and she mutters, "How can I be such a moron," under her breath, hissing. Though, it seems to make her sister straighten up a bit and she's thankful for that.

Serah props up on shaky arms next to her, looking back to Claire with a nod and a sniff. "Mmhm," she answers, and so Claire grabs the cup from her desk and starts for the bathroom, full knowing what horrors she may see upon exiting the sanctuary of Serah's room, but she goes bravely, hurrying down the hall until she reaches the sink and filling the plastic container as quickly as she can manage. Then, she hurries back with it until she can tip it to Serah's pink, cherry scented lips.

Serah sips the water gingerly, resting on her elbows until her fingers come up to fold around the glass and Claire releases it. She still cries, but the sniffling lessens a bit as she drinks. The older sister watches her closely as the cup taps against the desk again, sitting half full near the corner, just as Serah sits on the corner of the bed, less than an inch of space between them on the mattress.

"Better?" Claire asks, brows arched high again in concern.

Serah nods and scoots closer, looking up to her. "I'm glad you had time to read to me, Claire." she said softly. She asks, "Do you think they'll sell Pinocchio at the Moogleworks any time soon?"

Claire sighs, thinking of the small toy shop, run entirely by fluffy little moogles. Serah had one once – a little bag of marshmallows. It couldn't lift a feather on its own. The thought of one of the things was always laughable to her because of that. Claire frowns once again, however. _Pinocchio _really _was_ from Pulse, written in the same alphabet and everything. She knows there's no way that any shop on Cocoon would ever sell anything from Pulse.

And so she lies. "No, Pinocchio is too old. They don't sell him anymore," she says gently, hoping for Serah not to take it badly. However, Serah just nods, disheartened.

"Oh," she says, leaning into her sister's collarbone. Claire shudders at the contact as a hand finds its way underneath hers. And suddenly, Serah yawns Claire's shirt, clinging to her. "I'm sleepy."

Claire exhales. Sleeping is the last thing she wants to do, but pleading with Serah will do no good, she decides, so she simply nods as Serah climbs into her lap and lowers herself into the covers with her. When they both settle down, Claire kisses her sister's forehead softly and rubs her back. Serah smiles into her collar and giggles a bit. A soft _chu,_ as she returns the favor, on Claire's cheek.

Claire smiles, a familiar warm flush filling her insides. "Do you want me to turn off the light, Serah?" she asks, turning her head to catch the little girl staring back up at her in wonderment.

Serah shrugs, throwing a leg in the space between Claire's and snuggling further into her. "It's okay, Claire. It's not too bright anyway." She brings her head down into the fabric of her sister's shirt, breathing in.

She shivers, inhaling. "Y-you sure?" she asks, craning her neck to the side as Serah's arm loops under hers and nests itself behind her back. The hair brushing against her skin is enough of an answer to satisfy her, and as uncomfortable as it is, she wants it to stay that way, and it does – for a while.

Serah lies on her chest, soft puffs of air teasing the tiny peach fuzz clinging low under Claire's jawline as she draws breath. Claire can vaguely feel the flutter of an eyelash on her as she begins to drift off into sleep, and the sensation jolts through her body, tingling on the way down. She tightens her hold on her sister, tensing with a gasp. Serah presses a kiss to her throat with a moan, and Claire blushes a hot shade of pink in her state of half-wakefulness; with that, the hot feeling in her chest is solidified with a quick brush of the lips.

Claire's fingers climb the arches and bends of Serah's back clumsily, nimble digits scrubbing lightly against fabric as she breathes her sister's name. Serah's muscles waver and pulse like plucked strings along her frame, following Claire's touch. She smiles, hands trailing the smooth porcelain of the other's cheeks and on down to her stomach goosebumps rising in her wake.

"Claire," she answers, as those clumsy fingers begin to descend, spanning the sinews of her spine as she leans in for another short kiss, and again, and again, reveling in the electricity arcing between them with each touch. And Claire says it once more, twining around her as they mingle, Serahs lips diving lower onto her form. She can't help but see herself a child, uncomfortable in their shifting embrace, meeting again and again in an endless wave of heated nostalgia. Her heartbeat quickens as she pulls away for breath and she returns again.

"Serah," she says between spasms, "What if-"

But Serah silences her with another kiss as her lips unfold, the smallest hint of a whimper crawling from the small space between them as she pauses, searching her sister's eyes for a moment. And then she cradles her in her arms and lies down, leaving the fire in her own chest to die between them.

Claire's heart pumps rapidly beneath Serah's head as she wonders for her own sake what has just taken place, heavy thrums pounding behind her eardrums, deep pulses lurking beneath every thought. Her arms lie limply around her wooden back, hands resting along her shoulder blades. She sighs and stares upward to her window, the twangy residue of chapstick still heavy on her lips as she finally convinces her body to relax, despite the aching twinges in her belly; though even with the moment in the past, she finds that she still can't breathe. The very thought of it, of her, brings discomfort.

Even now, the air is steady but unsure, and yet, it feels so serene and peaceful, just the two of them in bed and nothing between, almost as if the entire world is a template for their solitude together, until it is shattered with a deadly crack. The door to the room slams with a crash, sending the lone picture on Claire's desk clattering to the floor and the shards of glass therefrom into a mosaic of glittering knives around it. Claire blinks in the silence that follows, shaky breaths echoing with the sounds that came afterward. Serah holds onto her groggily, hiding her face against her, though she knows that Claire is just as frightened, bewildered, and utterly vulnerable as she is.

When she feels there is enough distance between them and the mysterious, angry thing that invaded their room, she speaks. "Claire?" she says, softly enough that if the other hadn't been so blatantly alert, she would have never heard. She looks to her sister fearfully, pressing into her.

"Hmm?" Claire responds likewise, making a conscious effort not to dig her fingers into Serah's back.

Serah pulls herself higher on her sister's body, so that her head rests with her lips at Claire's ear. She whispers as curses bombard the walls from outside, "I'm scared."

Claire can't help but to stare at the door guiltily. "I know," she says, holding Serah, "I know.."

All there is to do is know, it seems, and the scene replays over and over. This does nothing to ease either of them, however; what is left is nothing but emptiness, and neither of them can shake the feeling that they've lost control.

* * *

**Fin, I believe...**

Okay, so anyway, it started out as pure fluff, then turned into this as I wrote it. Personally, I think it is crap after about the 1500th word. Don't let that stop you from telling me what you think, though!

Cheers. :)


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